ppy day of
my life. In the afternoon, I took a long walk with Jane, through green
lanes, and orchards white and fragrant with blossoms. In the evening,
the family assembled, and we held sweet council together. It was decided
unanimously, that, situated as I was, there was no reason for delaying
the wedding,--that I should repossess myself of the furniture I had
given away, by giving new in exchange, the old being dearer to both Jane
and myself,--and, finally, that our wedding should be very quiet, and
should take place as soon as Jane could be got ready. Through it all I
sat like one in a dream, assenting to everything, for everything seemed
very desirable.

As soon as possible, I reopened my house, and established myself there
with the same little servant. It took Jane about a month to get ready,
and it took me some years to feel wholly my own happiness.

The old house is still standing; but after Mrs. Wood died, and Ellen was
married, we moved into the village; for the railroad came very near us,
cutting right through the path "across the field." I had the bodies of
my father and mother removed to the new cemetery.

My wife has been to me a lifelong blessing, my heart's joy and comfort.
They who have not tried it can never know how much love there is in a
woman's heart. The pink still lingers on her cheek, and her blue eye has
that same expression which so bewitched me in my younger days. The spell
has never been broken. I am an old man and she is an old woman, and,
though I don't do it before folks, lest they call us two old fools, yet,
when I come in and find her all alone, I am free to own that I do hug
and kiss her, and always mean to. If anybody is inclined to laugh, let
him just come and see how beautiful she is.

Our sons are away now, and all our daughters are married but one. I'm
glad they haven't taken her,--she looks so much as her mother did when I
first knew her. Her name is Jane Wood Allen. She goes in the village by
the name of Jennie Allen; but I like Jane better,--Jane Wood.

That is a true account of "How I won my wife."

POMEGRANATE-FLOWERS.

The street was narrow, close, and dark,
And flanked with antique masonry,
The shelving eaves left for an ark
But one long strip of summer sky.
But one long line to bless the eye--
The thin white cloud lay not so high,
Only some brown bird, skimming nigh,
From wings whence all the dew was dry
Shook down a dream of forest scen